


Aim True

by AllyMander



Category: DCU (Comics), Nightwing (Comics)
Genre: Blood and Torture, Dick Grayson is Nightwing, Good Slade Wilson, Hurt Dick Grayson, Hurt Jason Todd, Jason Todd is Red Hood, Kidnapping, Protective Dick Grayson
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-06
Updated: 2021-01-06
Packaged: 2021-03-16 16:34:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,756
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28585041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AllyMander/pseuds/AllyMander
Summary: After a mission went up in flames, quite literally. Red Hood is kidnapped by Black Mask.Dick can't lose his brother, not again, never again, no matter the cost.Black Mask was about to regret ever laying a finger on Red Hood, for Nightwing was out for blood, and this time he brought backup.
Relationships: Dick Grayson & Jason Todd, Dick Grayson & Slade Wilson
Comments: 8
Kudos: 315





	Aim True

**Author's Note:**

> Oh dear please help me, this is my third Nightwing fic in three days. I just can't stop! 
> 
> Hope everyone enjoys!

This was supposed to be an easy mission. A quick in and out.

So why is everything so hazy? The air was hot, smoke so thick it caused one’s lungs to spasm. The world was dark when it should be bright due to the flames. There should be something besides the constant ringing that didn’t seem to lesson, it only grew in volume.

First thing when consciousness was reached was the need to breath, to scream in pain. Body spasming it took a minute for Dick to orientate himself, a gravely voice breaking past the haze.

“Blue! Come on get up!”

Groaning Dick let his head roll to the side as he pried his eyes open. Dick was met with red, burning, blazing red. Letting the hands pull him up the sudden pain in Dick’s side seemed to be the final thing to bring him back to reality.

He couldn’t hold back a scream as he looked down, a rusty rebar protruding out just above his hip. The world swayed and familiar hands kept him steady, voice growing more frantic.

“Fuck! Focus dickiebird we need to move now!”

There was copper on the back of Dick’s tongue, his head was pounding, why was it so hard to breath? Dick needed to remember, to focus. Looking up to the body giving him support Dick tried to speak, voice croaking. “J-Jay?”

Grunting Jason jerked, taking Dick with him, a support beam dosed in flames tumbling down. They were in a warehouse; they had been following a tip. Dick tried to move faster then, memories causing him to panic, it had been a trap.

They had been setup.

Flames licked at Dick’s heels, his vision began to blur from the black smoke, his body growing weak due to the blood loss. But he didn’t stop, no, Jason had him, he would be okay.

The pair pushed out a side exit of the warehouse and Dick sucked in greedy breaths of fresh air as a trembling hand went to his side. For a moment he let his body relax, thinking everything would be okay. Then Jason left his side, ripped from him and Dick hit the ground and screamed, pain causing his vison to white out.

It was the panicked screams from his brother that had Dick pushing himself, panic rising ever higher.

Red Hood was trying his best to fight off a group of thugs, one arm limp at his side. The man refused to fall, and the moment a thug went for the wounded Nightwing there was a bullet lodged between their eyes. For a moment, the battle seemed to be won, then another explosion sent Red Hood flying, his first gun falling from his hand as he hit the wall. Reaching for the other Red Hood let out his own scream as a thug brought a crowbar down on his wrist. There was the distinct shatter of bone and the weapon clattered to the cold ground.

Nightwing tried to peel his body off the ground, blood slipping past his lips. But he wasn’t fast enough, for a heavy boot was pushed into his spine. The thug laughed, putting his weight down on the hero, but his fun was cut short when another thug spoke up.

“Leave him! He’s as good as dead anyways.”

The world swayed and Dick watched in horror as Jason was tackled to the ground, his voice spewing venom. “I KILL YOU! LET ME GO! BLUE!”

Then a syringe was crudely jabbed into Red Hood’s neck and he went limp, leaving a struggling Nightwing behind as the antihero was loaded into a truck.

Time seemed to slow, and with it came an eerie calmness that washed over Dick. He watched as the taillights faded, and the hero pushed himself up on shaky legs.

Black Mask had Red Hood.

Jason.

His Brother.

The rage that boiled hotter than the flames overhead was what pushed Dick forward. When Dick did finally take a real look at his surrounds his stomach dropped at the weight on his shoulders. Jason gave Dick his jacket, the heavy leather smelt of cigarettes and gunpowder. Collecting Jason’s twin pistols Dick made his way to Jason’s bike, parked a few allies away.

Time was of the essence. Dick knew he had time, but that was what made him sick. Black Mask had been trying to get his hands-on Jason for months. Black Mask would take his time, torturing Dick’s brother before slitting his throat and stringing Jason’s corpse somewhere for all to see.

Dick needed to be fast, and ruthless. Eyes flicking back down to his side Dick whimpered as he slid onto Jason’s bike, vision blurring. He couldn’t handle this alone.

Yet Dick couldn’t call Bruce, for a laundry list of reasons, Damian and Tim were also out of the question. They would help in a heartbeat, but Dick refused to put them in that position.

He also didn’t want them to see Dick like this. Not after everything that’s happened.

After defeating the Light and stopping the invasion Dick had been pushed from the League, most couldn’t move past the truth. The fact that Dick had lied. The aftermath also caused the biggest fight between Dick and Bruce yet.

Access to the League and the cave had been revoked. With nowhere else Dick had turned to Blüdhaven, throwing himself to the task of cleaning up the streets.

Jason had been the one to find him. To pull him from the hole he dug. And together they worked at cleaning up the city. Which only caused greater tensions between Dick and his fellow heroes.

Dick didn’t know if it was for better or worse, that he simply didn’t care what others thought.

Revving the gas Dick flicked the kickstand of the bike and headed for the closest safe house, only one option coming to mind. Ignoring the fact, he smeared blood on his cheek and ear, Dick tapped his earpiece.

“Hello little Bird.”

Jerking to the right Dick missed a truck by a hair, hissing as it jostled the metal still very much impaled his in hip. Dick didn’t have time to play games, which was apparent in his tone as he spoke. “How fast can you get to Blüdhaven?”

The person on the other line didn’t seem to notice, pushing as always. “Bossy, someone ruffle your feathers?”

“Deathstroke! How. Fast.”

That seem to catch the other's attention. Joking tone gone in an instant. “Give me two hours.”

Without saying another word Dick ended the call, sending the coordinates to the safehouse.

He’s was running out of time.

Pulling into the shop Dick barely got the bike’s kickstand down before he tumbled, catching himself on a toolbox at the last second. Snatching the first clean towel the man spotted, Dick went straight for his laptop, squinting at the screen. Jason’s helmet would be the first thing to go, so trying to use that tracker was rather pointless. But, Dick had been smart enough to plant a tracker in his bother's boot, playing it safe.

Booting up the program, Dick started the decoding process. With that working in the background Dick went for the medical kit, dreading what was going to come next.

There was way to much blood. It soaked Dick’s hands, his pants, Jason’s bike. Which he would surly hear about later. Point is, Dick really didn’t want to soak the couch as well, so he laid a few towels down while he gathered the proper supplies.

Perks of your brother being a drug lord, he had the best shit. With trembling hands Dick pulled out a localized numbing agent, wincing at the pinch of pain. Second came hooking up his own IV and blood transfusion. It was times like these that Dick was happy he thought ahead, always keeping some tucked away.

God, he most look like a mess.

Leaning back the best he could Dick put the staple gun on his leg as he gripped the rebar, knuckles white.

One breath.

Two.

Scream.

There was a clatter of metal on concrete and the world blurred. Panting Dick didn’t fight the tears that rolled down his cheeks, not that he could, for he was fighting to breathe. Even with the drugs it wasn’t enough.

Riding out the pain Dick didn’t realize there was someone else in the shop until a mass of orange and black was kneeling before him.

Slade looked pale, eye wide. “Jesus kid.”

Dick didn’t fight the man when he took the stapler from him, he didn’t have the strength anyways. Dick could barely speak, throat still raw, but he needed Slade to understand.

“Black Mast took Red Hood.” Wincing when Slade pulled Dick’s hand away from the hole in his body he continued. “You’re going to help me get him back.”

Slade didn’t say anything to that, focused on Dick’s wound. With the fluids and blood transfusion Dick felt the haze rise ever so slightly. They had about five hours, then Dick would have cracked his own encryption. He had made the code with Batman in mind, Dick refused to risk his brother’s life. Right now, Dick was regretting his caution nature.

But he also knew if he walked into Black Mask’s hideout like this, he would be dead in an instant.

Making a timeline Dick figured whatever they drugged Jason with was no joke. Jason should still be out could, and would be for at least three, maybe four more hours. Black Mask will wait until Jason wakes before doing anything, and the man enjoyed playing games.

Knowing the sick bastard, he’ll let Jason sit, watch as Jason tries to escape and inevitably fail. Black Mask will toy with him for awhile before starting the physical torture.

Plan in place Dick spoke up again, letting his body sink back into the couch. “Wake me in six hours, we head out in eight.”

Dick didn’t wait for the response; he knew Slade would listen. Their relationship was strained, dangerous, but this wasn’t them messing with each other's missions or jobs. This wasn’t Slade testing Dick or Dick pushing at Slade’s limits.

This wasn’t a game. Slade would respect that.

There had been no dreams, no nightmares, just pure bliss. Eyes snapping open Dick looked up into grey and he blinked before pushing himself up. Slade didn’t say anything as Dick tested putting weight on his legs, tearing out the needles from his arms.

Looking around Dick didn’t hide his surprise as he noticed Slade had cleaned up the shop, even Dick’s blood that had been smeared all over Jason’s bike. The man simply watched Dick for a moment, one of Jason’s gun in hand. “Since when does the boy wonder snuggle up to crime bosses?”

Padding further into the shop Dick made his way into the small kitchenet, humming when he snatched the orange juice, followed by a bottle of pills. Dick popped two in his mouth before drinking straight from the carton, coming up from air Dick poked at his side, testing how much he could handle before he responded. “Not the boy wonder.”

Looking up then Dick felt his shoulders sag, peeling off his mask to rub at his eyes. Slade would figure it out eventually, and at this point Dick didn’t really care. Deathstroke had five hours, five hours with an unconscious Nightwing at his mercy. While tucked away in one of the safehouses he shared with Red Hood. If Deathstroke was going to act, Dick would have never woken up.

“Hood is my brother.”

Smiling slightly at the surprise on the mercenaries’ face Dick moved to his computer, fingers gliding over the keys. Dick sighed in relief as a location blinked on the screen. Looking over at the clock on the wall Dick started to peel off the top half of his suit jumping when Slade came to offer a hand, setting Jason’s gun down.

“Go shower, I’ll make you something to eat before we head out.”

Well, that’s new. Normally Dick would crack a joke, but he was far from being a joking mood. He simply nodded, doing what was ordered.

Gazing into the mirror Dick winced at his reflection. He’s looked better. Peeling off the gauze over his hip Dick was impressed by the care Slade had taken. The man had taken time to clean any visible wounds through the tears in Dick’s suit. Even tapping a nasty little gash on his cheek.

Dick didn’t waste time, going as fast as possible to scrub away the blood before stepping out. Jason’s painkillers were doing wonders, for the movement only caused a twinge of pain. Stepping out of the bathroom Dick didn’t look toward the kitchen, heading straight for the false wall between his and Jason’s beds.

Placing a hand on the screen there was a hiss and Dick couldn’t help but smile at his suit. He always enjoyed suiting up, even if its from one beyond repair into another. Dick took his time, not wanting to aggravate his wounds, the bruising on his ribs hinted at some fracturs.

Dressed, Dick stepped back, securing his escrima sticks. Looking over himself Dick moved toward Jason’s suit and gear. Dick hesitated for a moment, hand twitching in the air. Then he came to a decision, going for Jason’s belt.

Black Mask wouldn’t get away with this.

Snapping the belt in place Dick ignored the eye watching his every move. Stopping at the couch Dick reached for Jason’s jacket, he held it for a moment, letting his eyes flutter shut as he fisted the fabric. Then he pulled it on, snorting how his body was drowned in the thick fabric.

Then came the pistoles. Dick probably gave Slade a heart attack when he ejected the empty clips, slamming in two new one’s before cocking them and sliding them into the holsters at his hips. Dick looked up then, meeting Slade’s heavy gaze. “You got a car?”

Not a single word was exchanged after that, Dick slid himself into Deathstroke’s black truck and kept his trembling hands in his lap. Slade probably thought Dick was scared, nervous, maybe thinking that Dick couldn’t handle to twin pistols on his hips.

The truth?

Dick was livid, seething. And the guns? They were just like Jason’s jacket. Grounding.

Dick would be getting his brother back. No one would take Jason away from him, never again.

The moment the truck pulled to a stop Dick was sliding out, feet hitting the wet pavement, silent. Dick could hear the faint beating of music and smirked. Not only did he find Jason, Black Mask had been stupid enough to bring Dick's brother to his club.

Dick didn’t fight when Slade took point, keeping him in the shadows as Slade checked for any guards. With a signal Dick was moving sliding right up to the back door and turning on his own holographic computer, hacking into the security system in record time.

Stepping back Dick let Slade slide in first, Dick not far behind. It was no surprise to find themselves in the kitchen. And Dick couldn’t help but laugh when they exited straight onto the dance floor. The strobe lights were rather fitting, the music vibrating Dick’s bones. Even with his size the hero weaved his way smoothly through the crowd, no one paying him any mind.

Alcohol was a beautiful thing. The feather like touch on his lower back had Dick turning, finding Slade behind him but nodding off to the side. Following the other man’s gaze Dick noticed Black Mask’s second hand dipping behind a curtain. Two guard standing point.

Dick didn’t even have to think. He knew Slade would take the right, so, he would take the left.

Hands sliding behind his back and up under Jason’s jacket Dick’s fingers curled around his escrima sticks.

The strobe lights masked the electrical current, the blaring music drowned out the choked scream.

Slipping behind the curtain Dick went down the narrow staircase, knowing he was getting closer by the separate security system protecting this door. Dick bypassed this one faster than the first.

The moment the door opened Dick could hear the screams.

Dear god, Dick had miscalculated, he hadn’t been fast enough.

There were three doors, two adjacent from each other and one at the end of the hall. Dick looked up at the man behind him before taking the door on the left.

Batman wouldn’t have approved, Dick was ruthless, leaving seven unconscious men in a heap on the floor. Dicks side was burning, throbbing. He should have taken it easy, safe.

But Jason was still screaming.

Slade was smart enough not to comment on the blood dripping from Dick’s knuckles as they head for the last door. This time Dick went in first, for a split second everything was pitch black. Before he could flick on his inferred setting on his mask the room lit up, causing the hero to hiss as his eyes adjusted.

Dick didn’t hesitate to let his escrima sticks clatter to the floor, ripping out one of Jason’s pistoles from his holster. Slade pushed his back against Dick's, blades in hand as he stared the horde of men that were waiting against the wall.

They were surrounded.

Black Masked laughed, he had Red Hood bound to a chair in front of him. Black Mask held a blade to Red Hood’s throat, the other held his own handgun. His smile was wide as he looked at Nightwing, finding the picture of the hero holding a gun hysterical. “Come now Nightwing. We all know you won’t be using that gun.”

Slade tensed behind Dick, the thugs around them all chuckling to a different degree. Even as Black Mask continued, Dick only watched Jason.

“Put the gun down little hero. Deathstroke it's good to see you, out of professionalism I’ll let you walk about and won’t utter a word about your involvement.”

Jason’s helmet was gone, blood coating him from head to toe. His breathing was labored, eyes closed. Yet he pried one open, eyes clouded as his gaze fell on Dick. The antihero swallowed down a mouthful of blood, doing so caused the blade at his throat to nick his skin, a small stream of blood rolling down.

His words were horse, choppy, but Dick didn’t miss them.

“Aim true.”

Dick pulled the trigger.

Chaos ensued; Black Mask as thrown backward, dead before he hit the ground. A bullet between his eyes. Dick holstered the gun, scooping up his escrima sticks and sliding them back where they belong. Then he was moving, the only thought on his mind was his brother.

Not that anything else needed to matter, Slade was moving, slaughtering anyone that was stupid enough to stick around.

Jason was chained to the chair, his one shoulder bent awkwardly, his broken wrist in no better shape, the moment Dick moved to pick the locks Jason hissed and the other froze.

“Fuck it.” Pulling out Jason’s pistole out once more Dick shot the chains, quick to shuck off his brother’s jacket and drape it over Jason as he slumped forward. “Can you walk?”

Cough wet, Jason shook his head, vision blurry. “Mask fucked my knee.”

Frowning Dick slid to the front of the chair, looking into Jason’s green swirling eyes. One was swollen shut, and when Jason went to smile the split in his lip caused blood to smear over his teeth. The knee in question still had a knife in it, the blood crusted, Jason slight healing factor slowing the bleeding.

Seeming to make up his mind Dick reached out, hissing as he started to pull Jason off the chair. “I’m carrying you out.”

“The hell you are kid, you’re barely on your own feet.”

Jason shook his head as Slade stepped forward, cleaning his blade. Jason was on edge, but Dick didn’t seem concerned, so he didn’t expect a fight. Still, Dick was an idiot and Jason had every intention to tell him that. “Deathstroke? Seriously? Dickiebird we talked about this, for once can you have any self-preservation skills?”

“Sure, when you quit smoking.”

Jason snorted then, wincing as he did. “Touché.”

Mirroring his brother Dick turned to Slade, nodding, and letting the man move in. He couldn’t help but snort at his brother’s instant protests. “Fuck this I’m no damsel!”

“Shut it kid, before I drop you on your ass.”

Seeing that Slade’s hands were now full of a pissed off Red Hood, Dick pulled out his escrima sticks once more, letting them twirl in his fingers as he headed for the door. His actions have yet to sink in, for the time he would capitalize on that fact, taking down anyone that even looked at the two he was protecting.

He just had to make it a little longer. Just needed to get Jason home, dress his wounds.

The moment they made their way back to the safehouse Dick was moving. But unlike himself Dick made sure Slade deposited Jason on the bed before he got to work.

Hands trembling Dick put his hands on either side of Jason’s knee, looking at his brother with panic in his eyes. Jason didn’t seem nearly as bothered, though his eyes didn’t leave Dick’s hands. “Steady those hands first please.”

Dick didn’t want to mention the tremble wasn’t actually from the nerves, but the wound in his side, for his stitches pulled at some point, and a few of his ribs snapped. Dick was so tired, thirsty, hungry.

But Jason came first.

Dick had to take care of his brother.

Considering that Dick had gone against every belief he’s followed until tonight Dick shrugged. One more sin wouldn’t make a difference. Dick turned, ignoring how Slade was watching from the couch, the man clearly was sticking around till the end. He was invested, probably had questions.

Going to the freezer Dick pulled out the vodka, foregoing a glass while he snatched Jason’s pack of cigarettes off the counter. Jason always kept a lighter in his belt, Dick knew exactly where it was. Flicking the lighter and taking a long drag Dick let the buzz from the nicotine roll over his mind. It hurt something fierce, his lungs setting ablaze after the last twenty-four-hours. But it helped, Dick's hands settling after the third drag.

Jason seemed to settle then; he knew his brother was moments away from falling apart. But before he could say anything Dick shoved the bottle into his hand, the cigarette followed. His voice was horse when he spoke, his head tilted up as Dick exhaled. “You really want to be awake for this?”

Jason’s eyes flicked to Slade and Dick didn’t miss the action, the silent question. “It’s not a problem Jay.”

There was a pause then, the brothers having a silent conversation with a gaze alone. Then Jason sighed, putting out the cigarette as he unscrewed the bottle, voice hushed when he gave his answer. “Don’t think being put down after today is the best idea.”

“Kay.” Dick waited just long enough for Jason to screw the bottle back closed before he moved, catching Jason off guard when it came to these kinds of things was better for him. “Sorry.”

Dick yanked the blade out and flinched at the scream.

Jason didn’t last long after that, passing out on the last stitch to his knee. Dick wanted to cry with relief but kept working.

He couldn’t crumble, not yet.

Time stopped mattering; Dick didn’t know how long he worked on Jason. He became a machine. Find a wound, clean it, stitch it, dress it. Rinse and repeat.

When Dick couldn’t find a new wound after countless, he swayed, stepping back to look down at his bloody hands.

There was a pressure on Dick’s shoulder, and he twirled, Slade catching his fist. Slade’s mask was gone, face stern but there was a glint of kindness in his grey eye. “Easy little bird, just trying to help.”

Dick’s world crumbled today; he crossed every line he had. His mind was moments away from going into shock. Yet, Dick’s next words seemed to be the most jarring, due to who he was directing it too. “Thank you.”

Slade frowned at that, like he was having a similar dilemma, but the man didn’t say anything else. Dick allowed himself to be manhandled, shutting down to the point he only responded to commands. Slade was gentle as he removed Jason’s pistoles, putting them on the boy’s nightstand. Then he went for the belt, Dick’s escrima sticks followed.

The top half of the suit came last and Dick was pushed onto his bed, the moment his head hit the pillow Dick was dead to the world.

The following morning, as two brothers slept soundly, reunited, and safe, the news was buzzing.

Black Mask was found dead, his remains discovered in his burnt down club along with all his known associates. Red Hood was the lead suspect, but witnesses spotted Red Hood, Deathstroke the Terminator, and the city’s very own Nightwing leaving the club hours before.

The police don’t know who started the fire, and while they didn’t voice it aloud for obvious reasons, they didn’t intend to investigate the matter further.

Neither Nightwing nor Red Hood were spotted for over two weeks, but Blüdhaven knew better than to worry. Their very own dark knights would return. For they always did, and the city of Blüdhaven was in their debt for that.

-

Feet hitting the gravel of the roof Nightwing stepped away from the shadows, looking over his city and standing besides a rather intimidating foe. Well, if you were anyone else, Nightwing no longer feared the man he stood beside.

Slade didn’t say anything as Dick approached, and Dick wasn’t surprised. There were numerous quips on his tongue, but Dick just didn’t have the energy. He wasn’t ready for that yet. So, he got right to business, hoping he wasn’t about to sell his soul. “What do I owe you?”

Turning to look down at the ebony hero Slade hummed, remembering the bright blue eyes under that mask. Slade could get exactly what he wanted, the boy he’s been hunting after for all these years was right here, offering himself willingly.

But Slade couldn’t help but think back to seeing Dick all those weeks ago. Slade reached an understanding; a weapon of death didn’t belong in Nightwing’s hand. And if it ever is reached for again, Nightwing would only do so to save those he loves.

Slade found pushing now would only break the man beside him, and Slade didn’t want a bird with clipped wings. With the right words Slade would gain Dick’s loyalty through trust. That was worth more.

“Consider your debt paid Richard. Should have pegged you as a circus brat.”

“And my family?”

Slade smirked, looked away as he crossed his arms. Kid really was quick on his toes. “Have no interest in the bat.”

Dick let himself relax then, smile small. “Think you’re getting soft with age old man, and call me Dick.”

Eyebrow cocked Slade hummed. “Fitting.”

Dick was about to respond, then sirens below caught his attention. A truck sped by, one man handing out the passenger seat and shooting wildly at the police pursuing them. Dick looked up, smiling wildly. Saluting Slade, Dick flipped off the building, body twisting with grace.

Jason would be pissed, seeing this chase from his bed, so Dick turned and made sure to wink at the helicopter, camera following his every move. Laughing as his feet hit the roof of the van Dick was on the move.

At first Dick believed he failed as a hero, as a man. When he pulled that trigger, he thought his life was over.

He still took a life, that blood would always be on Dick’s hands. But in return he saved Jason, his brother, and thousands of others by putting Black Mask down.

Nightwing had no intention of making a habit of killing, if he had to do it again it would be too soon. Yet Dick wasn’t guilty, not really. That had been what tripped him up, he figured after the life he had, after being under Bruce’s roof for so long, that Dick’s world would shatter after pulling that trigger.

But it didn’t.

If Dick was going to be honest with himself, he felt more guilt smoking that cigarette.

Batman was right, Nightwing was nothing like the dark night.

Nightwing was better. 


End file.
